


The Inside of My Mind Is a Terrible Place

by MortalVortex



Category: Sherlock (TV), Watch_Dogs
Genre: AU, Abuse, Blood, Death, F/M, Hallucinations, M/M, Nightmares, Other, Torture, Violence, character origins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-04-04 01:26:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4121233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MortalVortex/pseuds/MortalVortex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim Moriarty was twenty eight years old when the only thing he ever loved was taken from him.<br/>An AU dealing with the series of events that lead to the creation of the criminal mastermind, Jim Moriarty, whom we see in the show.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Doomsday

_**Note to the reader:** This was just floating around in my mind and therefore it is in its roughest form. Thank you. _

Jim Moriarty was twenty eight years old when the only thing he ever loved was taken from him.

***

    It was a foggy Thursday morning when Jim woke up to the acrid smell of something burning. For a moment he remained groggy but suddenly leapt upright and he threw the covers to the side. Grey smoke filled the entire space of the living room and kitchen. In the midst of the gloom he found his dark haired sister Nicole guiltily scraping the remains of what was once egg onto a plate.

     “What on earth do you think you are doing?” Jim inquired in a low voice and a twinkle in his eye.

    Startled, Nicole looked up wide eyed and hastily placed the carbon encrusted pan into the overfilled sink. She smiled weakly and sheepishly replied “Makin’ you breakfast”.

    She nervously folded her lithe arms across her small frame and looked expectantly at him, smile faltering.

    Jim walked over to the table and sat down in front of the charred eggs and looked into his sister's bright black eyes and asked “And why sister dear, do I have the honor of being served breakfast?”

    Nicole’s lower lip trembled as she slowly formulated a response. “It’s your bir-birthday, in’t it?”

    He had forgotten. Today he was twenty eight. He was reminded of the two years that separated him and his little sister. It seemed at times as though she was a girl of perhaps twelve. She was constantly suffering from varying degrees of illness and spent most of her days in bed staring at the ceiling, lost to the world.

    Nicole swayed momentarily next to the sink and Jim shot up from his seat. He steadied her by the shoulders and looked at her worriedly. She simply closed her eyes, trying to hide the tears that had escaped onto her pale cheeks.

    Jim scooped her tiny body up, with her curled around his chest, and carried Nicole into her room, setting her on the small couch. He covered her with an soft blanket, tucked it under her chin, and planted a small kiss on her porcelain forehead. He whispered in her ear right before he left: “Thank you”.

    That was the last time they talked.

***

     Nicole lingered on Jim’s mind all throughout the rest of the day. At his meeting with the bank manager, at lunch, and even at the grocery store. She meant the world to him, his little snowflake- so very delicate and so veryinnocent. Everything he did- the work, the cooking, the cleaning, the shopping- he did for her.

    It started to rain on the final leg of his walk home. So Jim flagged down a taxi. He gathered himself into the cab and told the cabbie “505 King Street, please”.

    He looked out the window, watching the lights pass distorted by the raindrops resting on the glass. Jim’s trance was broken by the sound of sirens passing on the left. Traffic was stopped right around the corner from his flat. He tried to garner a look past the car ahead of him but all he saw was the flashing of blue lights.

    Jim thought nothing of it- except that it was a pesky nuisance to have interrupt his journey home.

 _It’d be faster to walk_ he thought.

    He paid the fare and stepped out of the line of cars and set his briefcase atop his head, as the rain fell harder upon the pavement.

    Jim rounded the corner onto his street and stopped in utter horror.

    505 King Street was- well, no longer…existent.

    A fire truck, an ambulance, and four police cars blocked the street off near the smoldering building.

    Panic filled Jim’s face as he ran towards the lights and smoke.

    _Please, please Nicole, please don’t be…_

    People stood by and policemen kept them at bay, none of which were Nicole. Jim ran through the line of cars and people, fixated on the ruins.Time slowed as a policeman reached out for him telling him to keep back.

    Voices filled the air, _Sir! Sir! You can’t go in there! There’s been an explosion. Everyone in the building…_ The rain poured and temporarily chilled everyone- except for Jim.

    Jim Moriarty's heart and his soul were frozen.

    Never to be thawed.

[tbc]


	2. Breadcrumbs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim is now in the possession of a tool that grants him access into London's monitoring system...

   ***

   The cold, wintry London air touched Jim Moriarty's rough, unshaven face. But he was too tired and worn out to care or notice any trivial details such as the weather. His coat collar was raised to his chin and his nondescript black baseball cap was pulled low on his head, virtually hiding all of his features from the CCTV cameras and the eyes of passing civilians.

   He stopped his brisk pace and pulled his phone out of his deep coat pocket and started up the application he had purchased the night before online from an internet black site forum.

   Rumors flitted around in the dark crevasses of the internet and one was that if you needed access to something, this black site was the place to visit.

   Jim found himself in a web cafe on a dingy little street corner chatting with a forum user on the black site named 'badboy17. They were on an anonymous subserver and Jim expressed his interest and need of a way to let him into the CCTV network.

   Very few words were further exchanged before an ultimatum was made. The application files for a wire transfer of $15,000 to an account in the Cayman Islands.

   The trade was to be made virtually on his mobile. The files began downloading and Jim requested a transfer through his access privileges from the bank he had worked at (ever since the explosion, he hadn't been in to work).

   Five minutes later, the application booted up and the last of the sum was released into the account. Then they both logged off with a parting: 'Pleasure doing business with you'.  
At that moment, Jim Moriarty then became one of the few persons in London to have unwarranted access into the city's monitoring system.

   Jim glanced upwards at the small, black, ever vigilant camera mounted on the brick building.

   The screen on his smartphone flashed briefly, displaying bars, numbers, and login pages- which were subsequently auto bypassed- and came to a screen showing the icons of nearby pedestrian cameras in the vicinity. He pressed on the one near his current position and found it was perfectly positioned on what was left of his old apartment building.

   Jim's throat tightened a bit at the sight of it but he ignored it and accessed the archived footage from that camera's server. He set the date four days back- the date of his birthday- and pressed play when the video reached eight in the morning.

   On cue, he watched himself exit the building and walk quickly off in the direction of a waiting taxi.

   Jim fast forwarded the footage until he reached about half an hour before he was due home that day.

    People walked by the door to the building but eerily enough none of the tenants came or left.

   Suddenly the CCTV footage went grey and became grainy, Jim lost all visual contact- the timestamp indicating the defect occurred about twelve minutes before the first reports of the explosion came in.

   The timestamp continued rolling but the visual remained grey static. The only logical explanation was that there had been some tampering done. Most definitely from the inside, probably post explosion.

   Jim slipped the phone back into the depths of his coat and habitually pulled the brim of his cap down. What had happened at the police station after the explosion made him an unwelcome man in London...


	3. Way Off The Grid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The following chapter is an account of what happened with the authorities right after Jim discovered the explosion.

****

    The rain continued to fall long after Jim's discovery of the explosion at his flat on King Street. His slumped shoulders were swathed in an orange wool blanket. Despite this, Jim shivered and stared blankly at his shiny black oxfords from his perch inside the ambulance. 

    An overweight, worn out looking man in a beige trench coat stepped into the ambulance with Jim and sat across from him with a sigh. 

    "I'm Officer Brown with the Metro PD. I've been told that you ar- were a resident here?" he asked rather uninterested, tapping away at his tablet.

    Brown looked up when he was met with silence and inquired, "Let's start with a name then?"

    Except for intermittent blinking, Jim's stare stayed focused on the decorative perforations of his shoes. A few moments passed before the officer interrupted the resounding silence.

    "Well, we'll have to just talk at the station then. Sit tight." Brown left the ambulance and shut the back doors, giving Jim a final look of mild curiosity. 

    A minute or two later, the ambulance started up and made its way to the Metropolitan Police Precinct. 

    All the way there only one thing stayed on Jim’s befuddled mind:  _Nicole._

_****_

The ambulance was met by an officer at the front of the Station. He looked disgruntled as he hurried from under the roof by the entrance to the back doors of the emergency vehicle and helped a still shell shocked Jim Moriarty exit the ambulance. 

    He was led inside to a flourescently lit waiting area, past an officer playing solitare at the reception desk, and into a cramped glass walled office. 

    The officer led him to a chair and gestured for Jim to sit.

    "Detective Inspector Lestrade will be right in, meanwhile I'm going to take your prints for ident-" the officer was cut off by a knock on the glass by a tall blonde officer. 

    "Oh! Sergeant Moran, I have those reports for you, let me go get them..." and the short man scurried off down the hall, leaving Jim. 

    The Sergeant gazed through the glass at Jim, whose eyes were still glued to the floor. 

   Moran considered Jim for a few seconds, turned the corner, and pulled his phone from his shirt pocket. He accessed DI Lestrade's itinerary and checked his scheduled appointments. 

   The dark haired man who was oblivious to the world was in for questioning and ID processing for an explosion that occurred earlier in the day.  _Curious. He looks rather... distraught._

   Moran frowned and headed back to Lestrade's glass box and looked into the office. No one was in there.  _Weird. Whe-_

   There was a light tap on his shoulder and Moran turned around. 

   "Wha-" the sharp corner of a leather breifcase met squarely with the bottom of Moran's chin, knocking his head back. 

   Jim lifted the case again and Moran tried to block the briefcase but it made contact. The Sergeant's head was slammed into the wall and his limp body slid to the floor, a thin line of blood following him down the wall to the matted mess of blond hair.

   Jim looked down at the man he had just knocked down and stepped over his still body. He straightened his suit and shifted the briefcase he stole to his other hand. Jim took a deep breath and made his way down the hall. 

    The small security camera's red light blinked faithfully as he rounded the corner...

****

    Jim moved quickly through the quiet, whitewashed halls and reached the reception area unquestioned. He passed the solitare playing officer and exited the harsh indoor lighting into the cold evening air. The rain had stopped. 

    Jim kept moving, making his way down the sidewalk along the iron fence that bordered the precinct. About twenty seconds later, an alarm sounded across the compound.

    By then, the dark haired man who had been in for questioning and assaulted an officer was long, long gone...

 


	4. A Blank Spot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After discovering the missing segment in the security footage, Jim sets out to find the officers who responded to the explosion. On the top of his list: Officer Robert Brown.

****

    Officer Robert Brown, or Robbie to his drinking mates, was a regular at a hole-in-the-wall pub aptly named 'The Vaults'. 

    Unfortunately enough for Robbie, Jim had taken the police report that had been prepared for the Detective Inspector during his "departure" from the precinct. On the report were the names of the responding officers, witness accounts, and identification information for all of the respective parties mentioned.

    A real goldmine of information...

    It had been easy to look up the phone number listed and access cameras near the officer's home. 

    It had been so very simple to learn Robert's unbearably predictable schedule. Tonight was supposed to be like any other Friday night. It was supposed to be a night spent with his buddies laughing drunkenly at absolutely ordinary things. 

    Jim Moriarty had other plans for him.

****

    It was about two in the morning when Robert's mass stumbled out of the door of his frequent haunt. He muttered to himself and leaned against the sooty brick wall fishing through his coat for his phone. 

    Jim had positioned himself in the shadows of an alley to the right of the pub. He had also taken the liberty of lifting Robert's phone. He placed it under a dumpster and dialed the number, hoping that the officer wasn't intoxicated past the point of recognizing his own ringtone. 

    The screen lit up under the dumpster and the phone belted out the opening notes of 'Dead or Alive' by Bon Jovi. 

    Like a charm, Robert looked in the direction of the alley and grumbled at the inconvenience. The phone's lit screen was like a beacon and the off duty officer knelt on the ground, passing right by Jim, and muttered, "What the fuck is that doin' there". 

    Robert stuck his arm under the dumpster and blindly felt for the phone. 

    Just as the phone stopped ringing, Jim stepped out from the shadows. The intoxicated man finally managed to get a grip on his mobile, stood up, and turned around. His eyes opened slightly in surprise to see a man dressed in a grey suit, tie, and polished shoes standing right in front of him.

    Robert looked dazed and confusedly offered, "Who tha hell are ya?"

    "Jim Moriarty. I believe we've already had the pleasure" Jim casually responded.

   The introduction was met with a grunt and a sideways stagger as Robert attempted to leave the alley. 

    "Ah, ah, ah." tutted Jim as he moved to block the larger drunken mans way out of the alley. 

    "You see," Jim continued, "there aren't any cameras here in this lovely part of town yet, sooo you and I get to stay here and have a chat."

    "Piss off." spat the drunken man as attempted brushed past Jim. 

    All attempts of remaining civil were dropped and Jim procured a capped needle from his pocket. He removed the cap and jabbed it into the neck of the passing man.

    "The fu-" Robert attempted to swat the needle away but to little effect. An intense feeling of exhaustion and fatigue washed over Robert as he fell to his knees and finally, to the filthy concrete. Jim looked distastefully downward and prodded the fallen man with a perfectly shined shoe. 

_Complete sedation in under twenty seconds. Impressive little drug._ _  
_

He began to walk away, hands in his pockets, towards the empty, poorly lit street. The headlights of a white, un-license plated Ford van turned on and the roar of the engine soon followed. He had instructed his motley, newly hired crew to gather the package after he had taken care of sedating it. Jim continued down the street and watched the van pass him at a modest speed as to not attract attention.

****

    After an hour and a half walk from The Vault, Jim finally made it to his tiny flat. It was in a crime ridden area with no cameras. It was perfect.

    He opened the door to his flat, sank into the couch, and kicked off his shoes. Jim closed his eyes and took in one deep breath, tilting his head back. Relaxed, for once, he slipped into unmerciful sleep. _  
_

     _He was standing across the flat on King Street. It was still standing, still the color of light bricks, still untouched by anything. Cars passed by, one lane in each direction, people walked briskly by tending to their own business._

_Something caught his eye. It was movement from the second story window. It was Nicole. Her black hair was down, neatly combed, and she was wearing a bright yellow sundress. She was smiling and was waving at him. Jim smiled back and waved with one hand._

_Then there was a loud high pitched noise. Everyone on the street clamped their hands over their ears and grimaced at the discomfort. Jim found himself looking down, hunched over, trying to block the noise as well. It continued for what seemed an eternity and then it stopped. All the pedestrians carried on as if nothing happened. Jim looked up to check on Nicole, but now the building was half gone, smoldering, and blackened._

_Something fluttered from above and landed on the sidewalk. Jim looked down. It was a piece of torn yellow cloth. The same color as the dress Nicole had been wearing._

_"No!" he tried to shout. "No!" but he couldn't make a sound. Hell- he couldn't even breathe. He pitched backwards, head feeling heavy and lungs out of air. He was falling backwards-_

Jim woke up gasping for air, heart racing, and covered in a cold sweat. He put his head in his hands and rocked back and forth.  _No one can ever see me like this._

_**No one.** _

****

    Jim took his illegally procured sleeping medication and six hours later woke up in the cold flat, feet propped up on the coffee table. He reached for his phone and saw he had a message from his van crew.

     _Package put away and ready for you at the location you specified._

 _Good_ he thought. It was time to get some answers.

****

    Jim had traded his grey suit for his black coat and baseball cap. His parked his nondescript black on black Mercedes E550 about twenty yards from the entrance of the warehouse. The car had been taken out of retirement when he had moved from the center of London to the outskirts where distances were larger.

    He entered the building and went down the stairs into a small hallway lit only by a single bulb. Jim opened the third door to the right and found his catch securely fastened to a chair. At the sound of his entrance, Robert looked up and snarled, "You better let me fucking go before the entire fucking department shows up and takes you the fuck out".

    Jim sighed.  _Remember, no one can see your other side. No one._

_No. One._

"Robert Brown, right?" Jim asked as he circled around the man, immobilized to the chair. His 'guest' simply spat in his direction.

    "Born on the 20th of November in 1970. That makes you somewhere around 45 this year. You aren't married but you have a sister. Her name is Katherine, I believe. You joined the force six years ago. A bit late, if I do sa-" Jim was interrupted.

    "So you looked me up! What the hell does this have to do with what ever the fuck is goin' on right now?!" Robert yelled.

    Jim stopped right in front of the man. He leaned slightly down to speak.

    "Oh, honey I didn't just look you up! I know every little secret you have. I profiled you, hell- I know you're a dirty cop, you've done **a lot** of bad stuff- **Officer-**  I know you have a deal with the local gang, I know they lend you a hooker and I know that  you turn a blind eye to their buisness." Jim paused, angrily knitting his brows.

   "And for your sake, I hope you know where the twelve minutes of CCTV footage went from the explosion on King Street. Right now, _'Robbie' ,_ dearest, I'm NOT in the mood to play any games!" Jim finished with venom and turned around. He paused for a few seconds. Silence filled the air.

   "So, what's it going to be Robert? The easy way, where you tell me what happened..." _  
_

    _"♪Ooor..."_   Jim sang and turned to his prisoner.

    "I _show_ you what _I_ do to dirty cops. It's your choice, really..." he circled behind Robert and waited. The man was quiet.

    Jim leaned forward and whispered into Roberts ear with loathing, "So, I'm guessing you want a demonstration?"

    "Fuck you!" 

    Jim rolled his eyes and took out another capped needle. This time it was filled with a cocktail of chemicals designed to make the victim feel- well- _exquisite_ pain.

    "What you are about to feel- well, I'll just show you-" Jim lifted the man's sleeve and injected the vial until the contents was fully emptied.

    Jim walked to the door and opened it, making his way out. Just before shutting the door, Jim cheerfully added, 

    "Oh and you'll be happy to know that I got that lovely sedative, this toxic cocktail, and a few other surprises from the very same gang you've been allowing to run rampant in the streets! The more you know!"

    His last few words echoed along with the clanging of the metal door. 

Then the screams began...

    

    

    

 


End file.
